


Baby Girl

by 1800areyouslapping



Series: Commissions [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Forced DD/LG, Yandere!McCree, dd/lg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1800areyouslapping/pseuds/1800areyouslapping
Summary: A commission for Anonymous (๑♡3♡๑)! Yandere!McCree kidnapped you and has been forcing you into little headspace ever since he got you back home. He comes home from a mission that kept him away longer than he had planned to be. When he comes home, Jesse comes to the realization that you’re not where you’re supposed to be.





	Baby Girl

**3 months ago**

“Stop!” you cry out. “Just leave me alone! Let me go!” 

McCree drags you down the hall, kicking and screaming. Shaking and feeling ill. Heart racing, as it always seems to be. Your anxiety’s constantly on high, and you don’t know how much more of it you can take.

“Bath time’s mandatory, Sweetheart,” he says.

McCree grunts as he kicks open the bathroom door. Moves inside and shuts the door behind him. He sets you on your feet, and you immediately collapse to the floor. You don’t want to be washed like you’re incapable of doing it yourself. You don’t want to go back to that room where you won’t sleep. You’re too afraid of him sneaking in while you’re out. Sick to death of being terrified over any bit of food or drink he offers you. He’s drugged you once, he’ll drug you again.

You lean forward, pressing your palms against your eyes, feeling a panic, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. All the trauma comes crashing down on you at that moment. Being kidnapped, his demands, the times he’s violated you, what your captor expects of you. You can’t reason with McCree. Out of his mind, he’s dead set on treating you like a little girl–like _his_ little girl. All of your yelling, all of your sound reasoning has fallen on deaf ears for months now. You’re so tired of fighting. You can’t do this anymore. 

He sighs, looking down at a grown, broken down woman like a parent watching their bratty child throw a tantrum. “Someone’s tired. Good thing your bedtime’s after this.” McCree squats down, so he’s more on your level. “I tell you what, Baby Girl,” he says. “I’ll read you as many bedtime stories as you want, so long as you take a bath. Can ya do that for Daddy?”

“No!” you wail. “I wanna go home!” You plummet into uncontrollable sobbing. Breaking down in the way that churns your stomach, makes it hard to breathe. Clouds your mind and widdles away your sanity. 

“You are home, Baby,” he says, making you cry even harder. 

McCree gets down on the floor and pulls you into his arms; you’re so distraught you almost reach for him as he does so. Holds you against his chest. Pats and rubs your back.

“You’re just having a bad night, Hun,” he says as he rocks you back and forth. “Everybody has ‘em, even Daddy sometimes.” 

When your thumb made it into your mouth you don’t know. You realize what you are doing, and you don’t care anymore. You lazily suckle on it, and the monsoon of tears begins to let up. His hand glides from your shoulder blades to the small of your back. Over and over, pausing sporadically to pat. For a minute moment, you feel anger spark again, a little bit of the fight come back. Hating the feeling more than you hate being close to him, you suck a little harder on your thumb. Focus more on the soothing hand following the line of your spine. Soon, your torrid feelings drift away.

This feels better– feels much better. Giving in, allowing McCree to soothe your nerves. You can feel the relief, all the way from your head to your toes. Feeling as if you’ve been running a nonstop marathon. Your muscles week, your mind’s so tired. A little numb, this new state, but you can deal with this. And now that you’re here in this space of mind, you really couldn’t fathom why you’d want to leave.

“Well… isn’t that precious,” he drawls, taking note of how calm you’ve become and the thumb buried between your lips. You look up at him, he’s glowing and so proud. “Can Daddy give you a bath now?”

You have never simply let him give you a bath before. Not without scratching, cursing, and kicking up so much water the bathroom is covered with it by the time he makes any sort of leeway. Right now… you want nothing more than to be taken care of. McCree wants to do that. So you nod. 

“Good girl!” McCree praises. “Arms up, let’s get you undressed.”

**3 months later**

What played out on the latest mission was nothing new. Still, his leg is bouncing under the meeting table. He’s well used to missions that don’t go quite to plan, having to improvise to survive. His concern is not for himself. Not for the petty bruises, or the minor abrasions. Can hardly pay attention to the briefing or the plans they’re laying out. All he’s worried about is his little girl.

Nothing prepared McCree for the amount of time he’d have to leave his you all alone. Especially a timid little thing like you. Sugary sweet, blissfully naive, and scared to death of your own damn shadow. He squirms in his seat, becoming visibly impatient. He’s sure you didn’t eat, wouldn’t bathe if he wasn’t there to make the food and draw you the bath. 

The meeting ends. Usually, he’s more than happy to stick around. Grab some drinks, smoke a cigar. Reminisce and joke about all the near-death experiences, poke fun at the agents who were a little less than on their A game. Irritation and concern propels him forward this time. A nagging feeling pooling in his guts. He has to get off base, go home to his darling. Reminds himself: you’re a good girl. He’ll open up the front door and see that you’ve been a nothing but a good girl. Tucked away, safe; you’re going to be exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Transportation is the best it’s ever been and yet it still takes far too long for him to get home– a quaint house, far enough away from civilization to feel like he’s stepping into his own little world. He jabs in the code to the lock. Gets it wrong, cruses, and tries again. This time the deadbolt slides open, and the bar on the other side lifts. He opens up the door just enough and slips inside.

Once inside it’s eerily quiet. No lights– nothing is on. No TV, not even the air conditioning.

He tosses his duffle back to the ground and rushes to your bedroom, flips on the light. Your bed’s unmade, closet door’s open, some juice boxes, water bottles, and snack wrappers on the floor. But no you. You’re not here.

Agitation boils over into livid anger. McCree left you with open door privileges because he thought he could trust you by now. Thought you and him had finally come to an understanding. He spins around and slams his fist into the wall. A hole left in his wake, causes the whole house to rattle.

His head spins, wondering how the hell you managed to get out. Did you have help? There’s no other way. What did he miss? Where’s the weakness in the castle he’s built for you? How did the princess escape?

McCree won’t rest, won’t eat, won’t be able to think about anything but your highly upsetting disappearance. Not until he has his little girl right back where she belongs, and he takes care of whatever issue has taken you away from him in the first place. Could mean removing someone who thinks they can meddle with his things or punishing you for running away from home. There are times when a daddy’s got to be mean, in order to help you understand that you don’t belong to anyone else but him, you don’t belong anywhere but here. 

He pauses for a beat, just to get his thoughts in order. What needs to be done first? He storms toward his bedroom where there are things he’ll need, a bag to pack. A short list of people he can interrogate cross his mind. Just the thought of one of them with their hands on you has him seeing red. He’ll need to weave a story together. Something to tell his commanders when he doesn’t show up at base camp for… however long it takes to find you. He’ll get his baby girl back, no matter what it takes or who needs to get hurt.

As he grasps a hold of his bedroom doorknob, he abruptly pauses and listens. Hears… sniffling, crying, and a familiar voice chanting things he can’t quite hear.

Gently he pushes open the door. It glides open. Soft white light from the hallway floods his room, illuminating his bed and you. McCree sighs out a heavy breath of relief, red-hot anger cools off into pitiful concern.

There you are… not quite where you’re supposed to be. Normally his room’s off limits, though he’s too relieved to be cross with you about it. You’re curled up on your side in the middle, one of his old serapes wrapped tightly around you. Wearing one of his dirty t-shirts, he’s sure he left in the hamper before he left. Rocking back and forth, shaking, and whispering things to yourself.

“He’ll be back, he’ll be back… he will.” You gulp and sob, and now his heart is aching. “Daddy’ll be home soon. He always comes back home… he wouldn’t abandon me, he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t..” You sniffle. Readjust, bringing in the serape tighter. “I’ll be okay, I’ll be okay… I will, I will. Daddy loves me, he loves me, he said so. He loves me, he loves me.”

Any lick of anger left in him leaves. He rushes to the bed and sits down. You’re so lost to your panic that you haven’t noticed him arrive. It takes a hand on your bare hip and a reassuring, soft, “Honey… I’m home!” to get you freed from the spiral you’re in.

You snap to attention, looking up at him, all wide red eyes and a big trembling smile for him. “Daddy!”

“Now ain’t that sweet,” McCree says as you throw yourself against his chest so hard you manage to knock some of the air from his chest and his hat from his head. You interlock your shaky arms around his neck and nuzzle your wet face against his beard. Plant loud kisses on his cheek, one big one on his lips. If you were a kitten, you’d be purring. Leagues better a reception than you would have given him just months ago. Couldn’t be more heart warmed by it.

You hug him tighter, he’ll be lucky if he can manage to pry you off of him ever again. “You said you were gonna be back days ago,” you whine 

“I know I did, Baby.” McCree hoists you into his lap, throwing your legs over the crook of one of his arms, holds you bridal style. “Sometimes things… they just don’t go like they’re supposed to.” He kisses the shell of your ear. That kiss leads to more kisses on your cheeks, tasting salt. A couple raspberries on your neck that makes you giggle. You gladly receive them with a small, weary smile on your lips. “Not that that don’t mean not I’m sorry about it, cause I am.” 

He just holds you for a while, letting you get out all your emotions. Rocks you back and forth and hums an old-fashioned lullaby.

“Anxiety’s a son-of-a-bitch, huh?” he asks, and you nod against his shoulder. “Better now that daddy’s here?”

You nod again, this time moving back so you can hit him with those sad, sad eyes. “You’d never just–leave me here, would you?” Just saying the thought out loud sends your lips back into a quiver. 

He grabs a hold of your face, squeezing just on the air of too tight. “I’ll– _never_ leave you.” He shakes his head. “Never. Never ever. Daddy’s always gonna be right here, taking care of you, keeping you safe.” He smiles, gracing his thumb over your dewy cheek. “What else are daddies good for?” 

Your tummy growls, loud enough for both you and him to look down at it in surprise. “When’s the last time you ate something?” he asks.

You shrug. “Dunno.”

“Well, I’m starvin’ too.” He groans as he lifts you up off the bed, carrying you out of the room and towards the kitchen. “How about some mac ‘n’ cheese?”


End file.
